Chapter Thirteen #5
He pats my ass, a light companionable slap that’s become his signature gesture of affection, and pulls away, swinging his legs off the bed. “I’ll order us breakfast. And then afterward I can give you my knot again. That usually makes you feel better.”
I grumble something venomous into the pillow, something about where he can put his knot that doesn’t involve any part of my body, but I lie still as he heads out of the bedroom, his bare feet padding down the hallway.
Resigned to my gilded captivity. The dogs’ nails click on the hardwood as they greet him, and I hear him speaking to them in Belgian Dutch, the firm, gentle commands that they respond to instantly.
I press my face deeper into the pillow and close my eyes.
My body hums with residual satisfaction from three days of near-constant knotting, every muscle loose and warm, my hole tender but not aching, my womb heavy with his cum.
The baby shifts inside me, a slow rolling movement that pushes against the wall of my belly, and I rest my hand there automatically, feeling the press of a tiny limb against my palm.
“Your dad’s an asshole,” I whisper to the bump. The baby kicks in response, which I take as agreement.
Later that afternoon we’re spread out on the living room couch, the late autumn sunlight slanting through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
I’m leaning against Hyunwoo’s side, my legs stretched out along the length of the sofa, stroking Machete’s head where she’s wedged herself between my thigh and the back cushion, her nose pressed against my belly.
She seems the most fascinated by the pregnancy of the two dogs, her ears perking and her head tilting every time the baby kicks, occasionally pressing her wet nose directly against the bump and whining softly as if she’s trying to communicate with whatever’s inside.
Kal lies at our feet, less interested in the baby but pressed against my calf with his usual quiet loyalty, his warm weight grounding and familiar.
Hyunwoo has his laptop balanced on the arm of the couch, scrolling through what appears to be an impossibly expensive baby boutique website, the kind where a single onesie costs more than my old monthly grocery budget.
He turns the screen toward me, angling it so I can see two tiny outfits displayed side by side, one in pale blue with delicate white stitching and the other in a soft sage green with a matching knit cap.
“What do you think?” he asks, tapping between the two options. “Light blue or green for a newborn outfit?”
I squint at the screen, at the price tags beneath each ensemble, and my eyebrows climb toward my hairline. He flicks between the two again, his brow furrowed. “I’m leaning toward the green. It matches your room.”
“Why blue and green specifically?” I ask, scratching behind Machete’s ear as she snuffles against my belly.
“For a boy, obviously.”
I tip my head and look at him. “What makes you so sure it’s going to be a boy?”
Hyunwoo snorts and looks back at me, his smirk carrying the condescension he reserves for moments when my academic shortcomings become relevant. “Yuggie, you failed biology, didn’t you? Two fathers. Two Y chromosomes. The baby is going to be a boy. It’s genetically guaranteed.”
I blink. I’ve never actually thought about that. But Hyunwoo’s logic seems sound, and I definitely did fail biology, twice actually if you count the retake, so I’m in no position to argue the science. A boy.
The word sits in my head for a moment, turning slowly, and then it sinks in. Turning from an abstract concept, distantly hypothetical, to real. A boy. My son. Our son.
I look down at my belly, where Machete has rested her chin on the curve of the bump and closed her eyes, her warm breath fanning across the stretched fabric of my shirt, and I start to feel, quietly and tentatively, a little excited.
A boy. I imagine a baby boy with Hyunwoo’s sharp brown eyes and that gleam of mischief that’s been getting him out of trouble since we were children.
Maybe with my jaw, the square stubborn set of it that Hyunwoo always says makes me look like I’m about to headbutt someone.
Athletic, probably, with our combined genetics, both of us having spent our entire lives pushing our bodies to their limits.
I picture a small boy running through the grounds of the Seo estate the way Hyunwoo and I used to, climbing trees and scraping knees and driving the household staff insane.
I picture him with the dogs, Kal and Machete circling a toddler with their tails wagging, protective and patient the way they are with me now.
The thought makes my heart skip a beat. I rest my hand on my belly next to Machete’s head, my fingers spread wide over the taut skin, and I don’t say anything.
But I’m smiling, small and private, my eyes on the bump where my son is growing, and for the first time since this whole arrangement started I’m not thinking about the money or the debt or the deal or what happens after. I’m just thinking about him.